Ceasing his restless walk up and down the room, Tom Swift
strode to the window and gazed across the field toward the
many buildings, where machines were turning out the products
evolved from the brains of his father and himself. There was
a worried look on the face of the young inventor, and he
seemed preoccupied, as though thinking of something far
removed from whatever it was his eyes gazed upon.

"Well, I'll do it!" suddenly exclaimed Tom. "I don't want
to, but I will. It's in the line of 'doing my bit,' I
suppose; but I'd rather it was something else. I wonder--"

"Ha! Up to your old tricks, I see, Tom!" exclaimed a
voice, in which energy and friendliness mingled pleasingly.
"Up to your old tricks!"

"Oh, hello, Mr. Damon!" cried Tom, turning to shake hands
with an elderly gentleman--that is, elderly in appearance
but not in action, for he crossed the room with the
springing step of a lad, and there was the enthusiasm of
youth on his face. "What do you mean--my old tricks?"

"Talking to yourself, Tom. And when you do that it means
there is something in the wind. I hope, as a sort of side
remark, it isn't rain that's in the wind, for the soldiers
over at camp have had enough water to set up a rival
establishment with Mr. Noah. But there's something going on,
isn't there? Bless my memorandum book, but don't tell me
there isn't, or I shall begin to believe I have lost all my
deductive powers of reasoning! I Come in here, after
knocking two or three times, to which you pay not the least
attention, and find you mysteriously murmuring to yourself.

"The last time that happened, Tom, was just before you
started to dig the big tunnel-- No, I'm wrong. It was just
before you started for the Land of Wonders, as we decided it
ought to be called. You were talking to yourself then, when
I walked in on you, and-- Say, Tom!" suddenly exclaimed Mr.
Damon eagerly, "don't tell me you're going off on another
wild journey like that--don't!"